I am. Did he tell you I was arriving?’
The man wiped his forehead and then his hands on the towel he was carrying, then stretched out his free hand. ‘I’m Heath Rollins, Ken’s son, and I’ve been expecting you.’
His voice was sonorous and austere. And the frown on Phoebe’s face did little to mask her confusion. Why on earth was he expecting her and why was he half naked?
‘So are you here to repair the air-conditioning for your father?’
‘Not exactly. I’m attempting to repair the air-con, but I’m not a repairman—not even close as you can tell by how hot it still is in here. I’m a podiatric surgeon from Sydney.’
Phoebe was more confused than ever. Why did Ken Rollins have his podiatric surgeon son trying to fix the air-conditioning unit? And why wasn’t Ken there to meet her?
‘Is your father in with patients already?’ she asked as she looked around her surroundings, hoping that the older surgeon would suddenly appear and clear up the confusion. And bring his son a shirt so he could cover up.
‘No, he’s not …’
‘Is he running late?’
‘No he’s not,’ he replied without any hint of emotion in his reply. ‘I’m actually standing in for him for the next four weeks.’
Phoebe quickly realised as she shook his hand that the man standing before her was potentially her new boss. She took a few steps back from the very warm handshake and looked warily at him. She had signed on to work with Ken Rollins. This Dr Rollins was definitely not in his sixties. Disastrous, was the first thought that came to her mind. The second thought, as she looked at his lightly tanned physique, was not in any way ladylike and nothing she wanted to be considering with this man. Or any man, now that she had sworn off the species. It was not what she needed. In fact this was close to a catastrophe.
She had envisaged an older, established and experienced mentor to work closely with for five days a week over the next six months. This was supposed to be a professional development opportunity. And the man standing before her stripped to the waist was anything but professional development. He was not what she wanted and nor did she have the capacity to deal with him either. With the combination of Heath Rollins’s half-naked physique and the heat in the room Phoebe knew she had stepped into the fire—literally.
‘Where exactly is your father?’ she asked. ‘And why are you stepping in for him?’
As she spoke she was doing her best not to be distracted by his very toned body or his equally gorgeous eyes. But it was a struggle, and she faced the prospect that the cruel hand of the universe had just replaced her playboy fiancé with someone even more handsome, if a comparison was to be made. And she had to work with him until almost the middle of the following year. Six long months.
She settled her eyes on the stubble-covered cleft in his chin, then moved them to his soft full lips, framed by dimples and slightly smiling, and then finally she looked up and discovered his brilliant blue eyes.
She had to admit that he was a very different type from Giles. This man had more cowboy good-looks, while Giles was the Wall Street slick type. But she didn’t want any type of good-looking and she was far from happy with the arrangement. Good-looking men were all the same, and a long-haul trip to the other side of the world only to find that fate had ordered her another one was not what she had wanted.
Suddenly she felt a little dizzy. The heat was closing in by the minute. She mopped her forehead with a tissue as she reached for a seat and promptly sat down with a sigh. Her plans had gone terribly awry and the added lack of air-conditioning made it unbearable. This was nothing close to the first day she had planned in her mind.
‘I sent you an email outlining the changes,’ he said, his lean fingers rubbing his chin. ‘You shouldn’t be surprised.’
‘What email?’ she managed as she looked around for something to use as a fan and grabbed a magazine, which she moved frantically through the air in front of her face in the hope that it would cool her down.
‘The one that clearly explained my father was in an accident two days ago, fractured his patella and had to undergo surgery, so you’ll be working alongside me until he returns.’
‘So he’s coming back?’ she asked, with a little relief colouring her voice. ‘When, exactly?’
‘In about a month, if his rehabilitation goes as planned. It wasn’t a complete reconstruction, so he should be back on deck a lot sooner than after a full recon.’
Phoebe nodded and bit the inside of her cheek as she considered his response. At least it was four weeks, not six months. She felt a little better about the time frame but the confirmation that Heath was going to be her boss, for however short or long a time, was still not news she needed to hear.
She kept her improvised fan moving through the thick air, trying to bring some relief to the situation. Against the oppressive heat it was little use; against news of the working arrangements it was no use at all. For the next four weeks she would be working with a man too handsome for his own good and definitely for the good of all the women who fell victim to his charm. But, thinking of what she had just escaped, she knew she would never fall for a man like Heath. Not that she was on the market for anyone anyway.
She loosened the belt cinched at her waist to allow her to breathe a little more easily in the mugginess that was wrapping around her.
‘You’re looking extremely pale,’ he said, with something she thought sounded like a level of concern. ‘I’ll get a glass of water for you.’
Phoebe swayed to and fro in her seat, watching as Heath crossed back to her with a plastic cup he had filled from the water cooler. She took a few sips, then shakily handed him back the cup. Just as the polished wooden floor became a checked pattern that surged towards her in waves. As she fought the swirling focus that made her feel more disorientated by the minute, she wondered why any of this had happened to her.
Was there any way she could escape the heat? Why did Ken have to wreck his knee now? Why did she have to work with this man for the next few weeks?
Suddenly there were no more questions. The stifling heat finally claimed her. And Dr Phoebe Johnson fainted into Heath’s strong arms.
‘GOOD, YOU’RE BACK with us.’
Phoebe heard the deep timbre of a male voice very close, and when she opened her eyes she realised just how close. She was facing some well-defined and very naked male abdominal muscles, only inches away from her. Her brow formed a frown as she realised she recognised the distinctly Australian accent. It was her temporary boss—and in her direct line of vision was his bare tanned stomach.
Still lying down, she attempted to let her eyes roam her surroundings—until she was finally forced to look up and see Heath looking down at her. She couldn’t read his expression. He wasn’t frowning, but nor was he smiling. His look was serious. Concerned. And the concern appeared genuine. She discovered her resting place was an examination table. And soon realised there was a cool towel on her forehead and that a portable fan was stirring the heavy air and moving
